Interrogation
by SciFiNutTX
Summary: I had an idea about what that crazy FBI agent might do if he got his hands on Sam. Here it is. Now expanded by request.
1. Chapter 1

**_Hotshow_** informed me that this story was woefully incomplete, so I've added a chapter before and after the original. Hope you like it!

**Interrogation – Before**

Henrickson paced the small office. He was certain Sam Winchester would walk through that door any second and order two coffees and maybe some donuts for breakfast. All the information he had been unable to discover about Dean Winchester had been easy to find on Sam. Sam was a college student who had friends. Those friends had been more than willing to talk, to cooperate with law enforcement, especially once it was explained that Sam might be in danger.

He wondered over the fact most of Sam Winchester's friends did not know he had a brother. Well, if he had a psychotic brother like Dean Winchester, he would not talk about it either. Where most of Dean's acquaintances were no-accounts stuck to the floors of the sleazy bars they lived in, Sam's friends were upper crust. They had talked openly about Sam and his habits. The only information that he had been able to use to date was the fact Sam was addicted to coffee.

Now a dozen agents laid in wait for Sam Winchester. They knew the Winchester brothers were in the area. One agent even had a crazy theory they were driving around in a mint antique Impala, but that was ridiculous. Serial killers did not drive around in recognizable vehicles. Besides, they had the Winchester boys' fingerprints on several recovered vehicles, so he knew they traveled by stealing cars.

His determination was finally going to pay off. They had a positive ID on Sam Winchester in this particular coffee shop yesterday. Now all they had to do was wait. Henrickson hated waiting. He was short on patience. The bell on the front door chimed. Henrickson's breath caught in his throat.

"Hey, how's it going?" A tall, lanky man strolled in. "Two coffees, please. How are your bagels today?"

Henrickson lifted his radio to his mouth. He whispered, "Close in. We got him."

They burst out of the backroom, weapons ready. He smiled when he saw the rest of his team burst through the front door with machine guns trained on Winchester. All of the patrons in the shop were plants, and had guns out. Sam Winchester sighed and placed his hands on his head.

"Cuff him!" Henrickson snapped. Two of the other agents cuffed Sam, each grabbing him by an arm when they were done. Smiling for the first time since joining the FBI, Henrickson holstered his weapon. He approached Sam Winchester. "Where is Dean?"

Sam cocked his head to one side, his brow furrowed. "Who? Excuse me, but I think there has been some mistake. My name is Mark Hamill."

He turned to his second. "Take Luke Skywalker here to the station. The doctors are ready, if we need them?"

"Yes, sir. Standing by."

"Good." He turned back to Sam. "You will talk to us, Sam Winchester. One way or another."

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Special Agent Henrickson personally supervised the transfer of his prisoner. He was anxious to make the younger Winchester talk. For a moment, just a split second, he could have sworn he saw the older brother in the crowd outside the coffee shop. Henrickson ran into the crowd, shoving people aside. But it was not Dean Winchester. His prey was no where to be seen.

At the police station, Sam Winchester proved to be just as difficult as he expected a man helping his serial killer brother to be. Who was worse: the serial killer or the person who aided the serial killer? Henrickson was starting to wonder as Sam dodged or pointedly lied to every question. He wanted to play this game? Fine.

Henrickson stepped out of the exam room where Sam was cuffed to a chair, hands behind him. He motioned to a man in a white lab coat who approached rapidly.

"You have something to make him talk?" Henrickson asked, hating the need to use this man.

The man in the white lab coat, who insisted on being called "doctor" though Henrickson had his doubts, smiled. "Oh yes. He will be much more cooperative after this." He held up a syringe filled with a yellowish fluid.

"What is it? What will it do?"

The doctor's smile broadened. "I'd rather not say. Decreases liability. But I guarantee your prisoner will be very cooperative. Isn't that what you said you wanted?" He waggled the syringe under his nose.

Henrickson gritted his teeth. He really did not like this man, but he hated Dean Winchester. Lesser of two evils? "Do it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Interrogation**

Bright lights pierced Sam's eyes, making them water. He would have been uncomfortable, but the dazzling colors that kept shooting across the room were too entertaining. Once a color shot out of the light, like that purple and blue zigzag, it splattered against the far wall and then dripped down to the floor. Each time one splashed the wall, Sam had to stifle a chuckle. His captors had no sense of humor. Apparently the FBI was in the habit of having their sense of humor surgically removed.

"Sam! Listen to me!"

Sam tore his eyes from the wall, where a blue raindrop had just shattered like stained glass. It was pretty. The man glaring at him was not. He tried to look back at the wall, where the shards were melting, but the man grabbed him by the jaw.

"Sam! You are not the one I want. I want Dean. Where is Dean?!"

Sam shrugged. Well, he tried to shrug but those handcuffs holding him to the chair were pretty tight.

"Got a paperclip?" he asked, his eyes darting back to the wall. Cool. Red metallic with little gold stars.

"What for!" Boy, was this guy angry. Had he ever seen Dean this mad? Probably. Just not at him. Not even after he shot Dean. Why was that?

"I said, what for?" The ugly man demanded again.

"What?" Tiny purple stars were popping up across the ugly agent's forehead. Sam did not laugh, but he felt himself smile.

"What do you want a paperclip for?" the agent demanded as the stars began a slow dance across his forehead.

"Uh," Sam tried to concentrate. "Oh, yeah. To take off the cuffs." He rattled the handcuffs to make his point.

Wow, that ugly guy's eyes were huge! How can he keep them in his head like that? Sam shrank back, afraid that when the eyes blew he'd get splattered with goo.

There was a sharp pain across his right cheek. He knew it could not be Dean, because Dean hit a hell of a lot harder than that. Sam opened his eyes again. The ugly guy was standing over him, ready to slap him again.

"You hit like a girl," Sam scoffed, earning a back-handed slap to the left cheek. Sam grinned. "Dean's gonna get you."

"I don't think so," the agent leaned close to Sam. The purple dancing stars mutated into one long, swirly snake. Sam felt his eyes widen as the snake slithered into one eye and out the other. Gross.

"Because I am going to get him!"

Sam laughed, knowing it would probably earn him another slap. He didn't care. "You can't get Dean!"

"Why not?" He felt his chair shake. Sam had the nagging feeling that none of this was legal, but he was not sure why that would be important.

"Dean can't die." Sam was nearly as surprised as the agent when the words spilled from his mouth. They hung in air the before him as a misty green vapor. Sam smiled smugly at the words before blowing them away. They floated through the wall.

"Everyone can die."

Sam locked eyes with his tormentor. The Benders were way scarier than this dude. "But Dean always comes back." Oh – was that a turquoise shell ramming the wall? Look at all that pretty color!

"Right." The agent paced the room, his anger pouring off in orange and purple waves.

"Dude, pace over there," Sam cocked his head to the other wall. "You're screwing up the show."

"Let's try this: Why does Dean always come back?" At least the angry dude stopped pacing.

Sam watched as a hexagonal stop sign crashed into a yield sign and broke off into little pink baby booties. This was getting weird. "Huh?"

"Why does Dean come back? From the dead?"

Sam scoffed. "He never really died. Well, not totally. But he was going to. Twice. Or three times? I forget." That's better. Now a purple puppy was chasing a gold ball. At least he did not have to look at that snake slithering out of the angry agent's ear.

The angry man sighed. "But why does he come back?"

Sam recognized that patient, angry voice. He had heard it enough from his father. "He has to watch out for me."

"Why?" 

Sam tried to ignore the snake. It was perched along the man's nose, hissing at him.

"Because he always does. He's my big brother." Sam focused on the man's eyes. The snake was not in there right now. "You should probably quit hitting me. Dean doesn't like that."

"I'll bet he's hit you, hasn't he?" That was true. Sam's jaw still ached from Dean's last right cross. "Did he hit those women in St. Louis? Right before he killed them?"

Sam shook his head. Blue bunnies were rolling bright orange balls across the wall now. "Dean didn't kill anybody. Except that shapeshifter." Sam shuddered. Fighting a Dean who was really out to kill him had been more frightening than he ever let on.

"Shapeshifter?"

"Uh-huh. The one who looked like him. That's why they thought Dean was a dead murderer." A green whale splashed black water all over the room. Sam shook the water out of his hair. "Can I have that paperclip now?"

Another man in the standard FBI suit came into the room. He walked behind Sam and Sam felt something drop into his hand. It felt familiar.

"So that wasn't one of the times he died and came back?"

Sam let out a long-suffering sigh. "I told you, Dean never actually died. Just almost. One time was his heart. The other was from a," Sam paused, barely catching himself before mentioning the demon, "a collision with a semi." Sam realized the object in his hand was a paperclip. He unfolded it.

"So he has heart problems?"

"Nope." The snake perched on the man's shoulder, hissing and laughing at Sam. Sam scowled at it. He felt another sharp slap.

"I told you to stop that. Dean doesn't like it." Sam slipped the unfolded paperclip down to his fingertips. He felt around for the lock.

"I really don't care what Dean does or does not like!" The agent spat at him. Another slap. Sam dropped his paperclip. Damn it.

A tawny hawk with green eyes swooped out of the air. Sam stared at it, his jaw slack. It grabbed the purple snake in its talons, strangling it. The snake dropped to the ground as the hawk flew over to land on the head of the new agent in the room, a man standing right behind Sam's interrogator.

Sam chuckled. "You should care," he said.

"Really? And why is that?" The angry agent leaned into Sam's face.

"Because he's standing right behind you," Sam whispered.

The agent rolled his eyes. "Apparently they gave you too much of those drugs."

Sam grinned. "I like them. Lots of pretty colors." He looked beyond the agent. "Want some, Dean?"

The agent sighed, until a hand gripped his shoulder. He looked back, right into Dean's fist. Sam laughed. "Told you he'd be mad," he told the agent slumping to the floor.

"Sammy? How you doing?" Dean rushed behind him. Within moments, the handcuffs were off.

"Thanks," Sam rubbed his raw wrists. Dean turned his face from side to side, looking for damage. "He hits like a girl."

Dean grinned. "Yeah, I see that. Let's go."

"Wait a minute," Sam held up a hand. A purple octopus was tapdancing across the wall. How could they miss this?

"Sam? What the hell are you looking at? Come on!" Dean grabbed him by the arm and dragged him along. Sam sighed as he was taken from the awesome show, but he followed his big brother willingly. Dean always watched out for him.


	3. Chapter 3

Again – thanks to **_hotshow_** for insisting I wrap this one up! (And for pushing me to expand on some of Sam's hallucinations.)

A/N - I know NOTHING about drug interactions, so I totally made up that part at the end to make it convenient for Dean, Sam and me.

**Interrogation - Escape**

"Sammy? What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean shoved Sam around the next corner. "Sshhh!"

Sam pressed a finger to his lips, nodding at Dean. His eyes were fixed on the hawk attached to his brother's head, however. It had Dean's eyes. How did it do that?

Dean motioned to him, and his hand pulsed with color. Cool. Sam followed the ribbon of green and gold Dean trailed. How did the Feds not notice this? They reached the end of the corridor and Dean waved him closer. Sam was a little intimidated by the hawk, but if it listened to Dean, it must be alright. Right?

Dean slipped a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. "Oh! Not again!" Sam stamped his foot with disappointment.

"Shut up," Dean snapped, glancing around the corner. "Now listen to me. You listening, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and he tried real hard to listen. He really did. But there were green laser beams shooting out of his brother's eyes. It would be creepy if it weren't so cool.

"You're my prisoner. Got it?"

Prisoner. Right. Maybe if he just didn't say anything it would all work out.

"Come on," Dean grabbed him by the elbow, guiding him toward the front door. Sam came along peaceably, confident in Dean. There were two men in suits like Dean's at the door. Sam squinted at them because the light here was so very bright, and full of little flying pixies in changing neon colors, so he had a hard time seeing their faces.

Dean flipped open a thin wallet, showing a badge and picture ID. Sam could not help but grin. He had been allowed to pick their names that time. "Agent Ford. I've been instructed to escort the prisoner to a safe house."

"Safe house?" One of the agents took his ID, looking it over. "I wasn't informed of this."

Dean shrugged. "Special Agent Henrickson gave the order personally. Dude, I just follow orders, I don't question them."

"You got that right," Sam mumbled. He felt the pressure on his elbow double, making him wince. But it seemed to satisfy the men at the door, because they stood aside.

"Come on," Dean snatched his FBI ID back and shoved him out into the cool night air. He led them down the front steps and across the parking lot.

"Take these off," Sam held up his hands, clanging the cuffs.

"When we're in the car," Dean snapped. His hawk snapped at Sam too. Sam decided he better behave while that hawk was still around, it was almost as scary as Dean. When Dean shoved him in the car, his brother took a little extra time to take off the cuffs. Sam sighed with relief, rubbing his battered wrists.

Dean sat behind the wheel, watching him massage his wrist. "Let me see," he ordered. Sam obediently held out his wrists. Dean let out a low whistle. "Good thing the bastard hits like a girl, or I might have killed him."

Sam grinned as Dean started up the car. Yep, his brother definitely cared about him. Sam enjoyed the light show as Dean drove through the sleepy little town. Light from the streetlights attached to the shiny black car, trailing waves of light and color behind them. Neon signs bounced in the street, daring Dean to drive through them. One time he did and Sam thought they were going to crash. After that Dean started driving a little slower. But then he saw it: the very worst thing ever to come from some sick, twisted, perverse advertising agency.

"Dean! Dean! Look out!" Sam pointed out the window at a fast food restaurant. "It's a clown!!"

"Sam, the clown isn't going to get you," Dean sounded way too calm. Didn't he understand?

"Dean!" Sam turned to face his brother, full of fury. "Clowns kill!"

"Yes, Sam. I know. But that one isn't going anywhere. Trust me," Dean cut his eyes at Sam. The lasers shot through the window, highlighting the evil clown. Before Sam's very eyes, the clown started to melt.

"Oh, that was so cool. Can we drive back by so you can do it again?" Sam asked, twisting backwards to watch the melting clown.

"Do what again?" Dean was starting to look worried. Wonder why?

"Melt the clown with your laser eyes." Sam sat looking out the front windshield again. "Wish I had laser eyes. Dean? How do you get laser eyes?"

"You know, maybe we should find a hotel room," Dean muttered.

"Why? I'm awake. You tired? I can drive."

"No!" The word shot out of Dean's mouth, red, angry and glowing, and buzzed around the inside of the car before smacking Sam in the face.

"Ouch!"

"What? What's wrong?" The car was slowing down again as Dean turned his attention to Sam.

"I was just trying to be helpful. But you never let me help!" Sam could feel his lower lip protruding, and he did not care. Tears stung his eyes so he looked out the passenger window, determined Dean not see how mean that was.

"That's it. Next place I see, we stop." True to his word, the very next place with a pulsing, dancing, twirling neon sign proclaiming vacancy, he pulled in. "You. Stay. In. The. Car. Got it?"

Sam just nodded, not trusting his voice. Why was Dean being so mean? He wouldn't go melt the clown again, and let's face it, the clown deserved it for just being a clown, he wouldn't let Sam have laser eyes and then hit him in the face with that NO, so he wasn't allowed to drive either. Sam wrapped his arms over his chest, his lower lip still sticking out in the childish pout. Well, he did not care if he was being childish. So was Dean. When Dean started acting like a grownup, so would he!

Dean came back to the car. Sam looked away. Dean opened his door. Sam felt his brother trying to pull him out of the car. "Sammy, please?" The please caught his attention. Dean did not say please. Dean said NOW. Sam looked at his brother, but instead of green lasers he saw worry and concern. Now what?

"What?" Sam still felt surly, he did not like being treated like he was stupid. He was not stupid! He went to Stanford! Maybe Dean was just jealous.

"Please? Let's just go in the room and get some sleep. I'm sure everything will look better in the morning. Sammy?" Dean was tugging on him to get out of the car.

Sam sucked in his lip. Well, since his brother was being so nice… Wait! Dean wasn't nice! "Who died?" Sam gasped.

"What?" Dean's face was a mixture of worry, disbelief, and plaid.

"You're being nice. Somebody I know died. Was it one of my friends from school? Not that I hear from any of them anymore. Joshua? Ellen? Jo? Ash?" Sam grasped Dean's arm in his panic.

"No, Sammy. Nobody died. Come on, you need some sleep." Dean pulled both their duffels out of the back seat and slung the straps over his shoulder. His brother guided Sam to the room, constantly watching where he stepped and checking his face every few seconds. Dean was really looking worried. It wasn't like his brother to be like this.

"I can carry my own bag, you know." Sam stomped into the room.

"I know, Sam." Dean's voice was soft and patient. There must be something very, very wrong.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam." Dean dropped both their bags on the floor.

A sudden realization hit Sam, causing him to freeze in his tracks. "Am I dying?" It could not be Dean dying, he never died and he had plenty of opportunities. Dean's hawk cocked its head at him, as though it were deciding how many meals he would make. Probably quite a few.

"No, Sam. You're not dying. No one is dying. Now get ready for bed." Dean pointed to his duffel.

Sam scrunched up his face, something he had not done since he was a little kid. He wanted to wonder why, but the thought was a slippery one and kept sliding out his ear. He stuck a finger in that ear, trying to keep his thoughts in.

"Sam? What's wrong? Your ear bothering you?" Dean stepped closer to look at his ear.

"No. I'm trying to keep the thoughts in my head. They're slippery."

Dean's eyebrows went up and the hawk's neck arched, but neither said anything. His brother shed his jacket, somehow reminding Sam of the shapeshifter. Sam took a big step back.

"Now what?"

"Are you Dean or a shapeshifter?"

A long, drawn-out sigh escaped from Dean's mouth. Sam tensed. It was just like a shapeshifter to act exactly like Dean. He backed up until he hit the bed.

"Sam." Dean's hand rubbed his face, making it go all squishy like putty for a minute.

"Shapeshifter! Where's my brother?" Sam jumped onto the bed, looking around for a weapon. Wait, he needed silver! Did he have a silver knife? No, but Dean did. He eyed Dean's duffel, the knife was probably in there.

"Careful!" Shapeshifter Dean shouted at him, holding up both hands. "You might fall off!"

"So?" Sam demanded. What was this evil shapeshifter trying to pull here?

"You could hurt yourself in your current, ah, condition." Shapeshifter Dean did look worried. But that had to be an evil trick!

Sam shuffled backwards, angling for either Dean's duffel or the door. Shapeshifter Dean moved around slowly, blocking the door. "Now, Sammy, I'm not sure what you're thinking here, but I'm pretty sure that you're wrong. About whatever it is."

The duffel it was! Sam dove for Dean's duffel bag, slung it over his shoulder and raced back to his side of the room. Shapeshifter Dean did not even try to stop him, he was so fast! The thing that looked like his brother just stood there, watching him with eyes so big they could rival baseballs. And was it's head getting bigger? Oh, no! Maybe it was going to shed its skin again and become someone else!

"You just stay the way you are! That skin peeling thing is disgusting, I don't want to watch." Sam opened Dean's duffel, scattering the contents across the bed. Shapeshifter Dean had not moved from the door and was standing resolutely in front of it, staring down Sam.

Sam ignored the imitation of his brother. He had to get away from this shapeshifter and save Dean! Where was that silver knife, anyway? Another one of Dean's t-shirts, some underwear with – eww – holes? Dean's pants, jeans, toiletries, Sam threw them all out one by one in his quest for that knife. Nope, I don't need the hunting knife, Sam thought as he let it clatter to the floor. What else? He kept guns in here, too? Sheesh! How paranoid can you get? Sam tossed the guns onto the bed, knowing that without silver bullets they were worthless. Wait a minute…

Sam grabbed one of the guns and popped the clip. Bingo! Silver bullets! He grinned, aiming it at Shapeshifter Dean. "Where is my brother!"

Shapeshifter Dean looked pretty scared now. Not so cocky when there's a gun loaded with silver bullets, huh? "Sam. Would a shapeshifter have busted you out of a police station crawling with Feds? Brought you here to keep you safe?"

Okay, maybe it had a point there. Sam did not lower the gun, but he thought he might think about that one. So he stuck his finger back in his ear, to keep in those slippery thoughts.

"Sammy, you know I won't shoot you. Why would you want to shoot me?" It was holding out a hand that looked a lot like Dean's hand, right down to that silver ring Dean always wore. Hold on, did that shapeshifter take Dean's ring too, or was it just his necklace? No matter what Dean said to the contrary, that damn thing around his neck was too a necklace! "Give me the gun, Sam."

Sam's eyes narrowed as he trained the gun on the probably-evil-shapeshifter. It was getting harder and harder to think, even with his finger holding in his thoughts. Plus, the wallpaper was starting to move. There was something in the wallpaper, and it was going after Dean! Sam turned and tried to shoot the thing, but the gun wouldn't go off. Confused, he looked down the barrel to see if something was blocking the bullet.

"Damn it!" The gun was snatched out of his hand by a very angry Dean. "What the hell are you doing?"

"It wouldn't shoot. Is something jamming it?" Sam still wanted to see. It wasn't fair for Dean to keep all the cool stuff to himself.

"You left the safety on, Sam." Dean shoved him back so he could gather up his stuff, which by now covered half the room. Both guns went in Dean's waistband while he kept a wary eye on Sam.

"So you really are Dean? Not some shapeshifter?" Sam asked, still not sure if he believed it.

"I haven't tried to kill you, have I?" Dean asked.

Well, he did have a point there. "No."

"So what do you think?" Dean was cramming everything back in his bag. Sam watched as the contents of Dean's entire life fit inside a single duffel bag. It was so sad. Sam once had a life that filled a whole house. Okay, it was a rental, but still. And here was Dean, who really wanted a house – no, a home – packing his few worldly possessions into one bag.

"What the hell?" Dean was staring at him. Oh, God. It really was Dean! And he almost shot him. Again!

"Sam? You crying?" Was Dean mad or disappointed? Sam could probably handle it if Dean was mad, heck he spent half his life just trying to piss him off. But a disappointed Dean? No, no, no, no…

"Beddy-bye time." Dean took Sam by the shoulders and forced him into bed. Sam could feel the hot tears trickling down his cheeks. His brother took his shoes off, and when one of them winked at him Sam was glad it went under the bed, before covering him up.

"I don't have to brush teeth?" Sam asked, feeling like a little kid again.

"Plenty of time in the morning for that," Dean answered, and to prove it, he shucked his boots and climbed into the other bed. He was still wearing his regular clothes. "Think you can sleep?"

Sam shook his head, pointing at the freaky wallpaper. "That thing is going to get you when you go to sleep, Dean. It's scary."

"Tell you what," Dean stood and walked across the room. He grabbed a chair from the table, dragging it beside Sam's bed. "I'll sit here and watch to be sure the wallpaper behaves while you sleep. When you wake up, you can watch it while I sleep. Okay?"

Sam considered it. This thought was not as slippery as the others, so maybe it could be trusted more. Plus, he was suddenly very weary and tired. It had been a long, long day. Sam nodded, closing his eyes.

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Sunlight warmed his face, waking him from a deep sleep. Sam stirred. His mouth felt like he'd been keeping cotton and mothballs in it for a week. His head was twice as heavy as usual and there was a drum quartet playing a concert to one of Dean's AC/DC tapes in his head. He heard a low groan, and it was a moment before he realized it came from him.

"Sammy?" The voice was rough, gruff and familiar. Sam cracked an eye to see a haggard Dean sitting in a chair next to his bed.

"What the hell are you doing?" Sam asked, sitting up. Oh, the drum quartet just expanded into a percussion orchestra. Shit. He cradled his head in his hands.

"You okay? What's wrong?" Firm hands grasped his shoulders.

"Headache," Sam mumbled.

"Okay. Hang on." He heard Dean hurry away, water running in the bathroom, then his brother's quick steps back to his bed. "Here, take these."

Without looking, Sam accepted and swallowed the pills. "What was that?" he asked, gratefully gulping the glass of water.

"Pain killers." Sam threw Dean a questioning look. Dean shrugged. "I called a drug hotline and asked if it would interact with whatever they doped you with. The dude on the phone said as long as you took them twelve to twenty-four hours after getting high, it should be fine."

"Excuse me?" Sam cocked an eyebrow at his big brother. "After getting high? Dean, I would never…"

"Never said you would, Sammy." Dean's voice was firm and it held that 'better shut up and listen for a change' tone. Sam did not feel like arguing for once, so he did. "You don't remember anything from last night?"

Sam shook his head.

Dean rubbed both hands over his face. "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Well," Sam frowned; his thoughts were a hazy blur. "I remember going out for coffee. Then something happened."

"Yeah. You got tagged by that crazy-ass Fed. By the time I busted you out of there, that dude had you so high," Dean stopped, chuckling.

"What? What did I do?" Despite the pounding in his head Sam sat up, alarmed.

Dean was grinning. "Dude, if I had a video camera, I'd have blackmail on you for life!" He shook his head. "But right now I'd settle for a couple of hours sleep. Now shut the hell up." Dean crawled into the other bed without bothering to change clothes. Within moments Sam heard his brother's soft snores.

Sam looked around the room. It looked like an average, ordinary motel room. How much trouble could he have gotten into here? Taking a cue from the percussion orchestra, Sam chose to lie back down in an attempt to drown out the dissonant symphony with sleep.


End file.
